My Neighborhood Essay


The neighborhood is a small country within the homeland.
The neighborhood is the cradle of our great values.
My grandfather is a veteran of our mahalla.
I want to be like my grandmother.
Mahalla… This single word is based on the virtues, customs and traditions of the whole world. My neighborhood is an example of a loving mother to me. When my mother wakes me up every morning and encourages me to do good, my neighborhood will hold my hand and help me to achieve great goals. If my mother-in-law washed her hair white and combed it, it would not be wrong to say that it is the Ka'bah that brought this whiteness to my heart. Because this ground where my umbilical cord blood was shed has taught me to instill white intentions in my heart. It has never occurred to me that someone's rights will never belong to anyone, and that the notions of patience and contentment in our people are ingrained in our blood.
From time immemorial, our ancestors, who glorified the Motherland and sacrificed their lives for it, have taught us to love and respect the country. That is why the word Vatan is always used together with the word mother. Vatanim - onam…
This mahalla, which I grew up in, is my mahalla. If my homeland is my threshold for all good deeds, then my mahalla is my supporter. As the first President said, "For the first time in the history of our statehood, the concept of neighborhood has been included in our Constitution, defining its place and status in public administration." This status is still maintained and rising day by day. If we take the example of our neighborhood alone, all people will live in harmony. This is, of course, due to the solidarity of our neighbors. From the point of view of all people, especially our elderly, we often visit people in need of love, and we, the boys and girls of our neighborhood, help them in their work and lighten their burdens. It always excites me that they pray for a long time when we do trivial things, first of all, wish peace to our country. After all, this is great happiness. After all, this is confidence in the future. From time immemorial, the proverb "Take a golden apple, pray, isn't prayer golden" has been said among our people for a reason. These prayers, equal to gold, lead us to great achievements. Every time I hear or see about the achievements of our country's youth in science and sports, their medals, my heart is filled with excitement and tears well up in my eyes. I feel as if I have seen the answers to the prayers of our elders.
I believe that the achievement of such goals by the children of the country is the result of the attention paid in our family and neighborhood. In our family, our elderly grandparents take their young grandchildren to the garden every spring to plant trees. There is so much meaning behind this simple habit. The young baby holds the seedling with his small hands and watches his grandfather's movements. Through this, the seed of goodness was planted in his heart along with the bush. He repeats the habit he learned in his youth every spring, even as a child. Even though our grandmothers are old, they sew needles with needles and thread in their hands. The granddaughters of the little girl are surrounded by butterflies and try to sew. This simple endeavor opens the door to virtues in them. As our girls take the needle in their hands, they develop a high sense of patience. The reason is that embroidery and sewing require special love and patience. With this single work, our grandmothers teach us to strengthen our patience in the face of the hardships of life. When I see such high customs, the words of our head of state resonate in my ears: “From time immemorial, the Uzbek mahalla has been a place of national values. Mutual kindness, harmony and harmony, taking care of the needy, stroking the heads of orphans, holding weddings, hashars and celebrations in public, even on a good day. The customs and traditions of our people, such as being together even in a bad day, are formed and developed, first of all, in the neighborhood environment. ” During the years of independence, many new tasks and responsibilities have been added to these ancient values ​​and features of the mahalla. The role, position and powers of the mahalla in the society have been expanded. Each neighborhood had its own elder, counselor, and guard. Isn’t this proof that the neighborhood is a small Homeland within the Homeland? The neighborhood became a small state within a self-governing society. Is this not the great blessing of our independence? Neighborhood chairmen began to be elected by the votes of their fellow citizens, isn’t that a fact that has given us the fruit of freedom? How many sacrifices our people have made to this day. How many of our ancestors ’blood was not shed unjustly? How many young men and fathers were not mobilized for the war to protect the honor of their homeland?
When my grandfather told us about the wartime, painful past, what he had heard and seen, he would say over and over, "Thank you, my son, for these days, for our peaceful times." I sometimes think of it as a sign of the pain my grandfather saw in the wrinkles on each of his faces. Indeed, the hardships my grandfather endured, the fact that he studied and worked as a young man, and the fact that he did not return from any hard work to help his parents, give me the image of a courageous man. Today we have such glorious days for the sufferings and hardships of their time. One day, when my grandfather saw us eating bread in the streets with his happy grandchildren, he immediately called us to his side, picked up the loaves of bread one by one, put them in his eyes, and told them a story.
I had never seen these cases of my grandfather before. In my grandfather's eyes, the wrinkles on his face seemed to increase again. Although we were deeply offended by our excitement, they never spoke harshly to us. It is said that it was very difficult to make a living as a child. His father worked as a blacksmith from morning till night, making tools for the people. Sometimes they went to the workshop to help their fathers, and sometimes they rushed to work on the lands of the kolkhoz to help their mothers. Even at night, they say, I witnessed my mother doing some sewing and going out until midnight. On one of these days, my mother, who did not wake up until midnight, tried to bake bread in the early morning in the dark. The breads of that era cannot be compared to the breads you are wasting these days, my child. Even though the bread we were eating was black, we were rubbing it in our eyes. Because when I was a first grader, I used to go with my brothers and friends in our neighborhood to pick corn. The more we found the whole and half ears that fell under the harvested wheat, the more we rejoiced. The chairman of our kolkhoz used to put corn on the heels of each child. When I came home, my mother kissed me on the forehead and said, "Long live my child," which was a great reward for me. My father would put a loaf of bread in his eyes and say thank you over and over again.
These words simply could not be heard. My whole body, my heart trembled. Tears welled up in my eyes, and I remembered my grandfather's repeated words, "Thank you, thank you for creating."
Thank you for creating me, for your healing days.
My helper, thank you for giving me peace and love.
What we do is for you to salt the bread you have given us.
I leaned on you, thank you for taking care of us like that.
We are always proud to say that my homeland is my mother. Because we see the Motherland in the emblems of our loving mothers and grandmothers. Every time I go to see my grandmother, they stroke my forehead, press on my hips, and take what they have adopted to the table. They sew the shirts and pillows they sewed for me. That's when a question comes to my mind. Whatever I do for such compliments of my grandmother, her heart rises. When I ask them, they say, "Son, you just have to come often." The women next door often go out in front of my grandmother. Some go to learn the secrets of betting, while others visit to get advice. No matter who the goal was, the grandmothers would never give up in despair. He always told women about patience and always said, “Daughters, never give up work. The most gratifying, the sweetest bite you have earned. The more you strive with patience, the greater the blessings you will receive. I will be proud of my grandparents when I hear these words.
In conclusion, I would like to conclude that our elders are our angels. Their prayers are our companion, the development of our neighborhood and their role in making it generous and generous. My neighborhood is my pride. I am always proud of my neighborhood.

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